


The Portrait Preoccupation

by Madsmadsmads



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Art, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Musing, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slight Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:37:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madsmadsmads/pseuds/Madsmadsmads
Summary: Draco Malfoy wanders the hall in search of himself.





	The Portrait Preoccupation

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little story that popped into my head on a slow afternoon. I hope you enjoy it.

               Draco sighed as he moved from portrait to portrait. No matter how many museums or private galleries he visited, he just couldn’t seem to find himself in a painting. And yes, he did mean aesthetically. ‘Any fool could look at an emotional piece and find themselves to be the subject of it.’ He thought to himself, ‘Much harder to find a work of art with your face on it that you didn’t commission.’ And although he knew this self-imposed search was likely futile, he still couldn’t help the welling of hope and anticipation in his stomach as he turned a corner to perhaps catch his own eye in the next room. It wasn’t exactly vanity (though it wasn’t completely devoid of vanity- he knew that he was beautiful after-all) that drove him to seek his likeness out  but more of a sense that, if he could find the painting, then he wasn’t alone- that he wasn’t the only one that saw himself in a kind light. Worthy of being admired instead of reviled, or at worst – feared, maybe. Hell, even Snape had his likeness hanging on the walls, thanks to the likes of Botticelli.

               So, yet again, he found himself wandering down the halls of a familiar art museum on the off chance that he was hiding in the new exhibit. He never bothered to look up whose art was being imported – it didn’t really matter, besides, he enjoyed the surprise. It was a Sunday that inspired laziness, the kind of day that was just warm enough to enjoy the sun out in the garden. Normally, on these days where calmness filtered through the branches, Draco would take a couple of leisurely turns on his broom before attending to any business inside the manor. But Draco had a good feeling about today. A kind of persistent tugging slightly north of his stomach whispered that today was the lucky day. But his mood had slowly started to sour as ten minutes of nothing turned to fifteen only to be turned to twenty. Nothing.

               He decided to leave before his bad mood could ferment into something worse and turned on his heel to leave. But, because he had paused to sneer at the sight of two women posing in front of their painted doppelgangers as a third giggled and took a picture, he was unaware that his abrupt stop would cause a woman to knock into his shoulder. A flash of rosemary was inhaled and disappeared. As he was the cause of the brief jam-up, he turned and began apologizing at the same time,

“I am so sorry how --”, the rest died on his lips as he groaned internally. Of course, he thought, of course I would have the bad luck of bumping into the one bloody portrait he could never escape. He narrowed his eyes as he felt all of the jealous rage and desires intermingle in his mind.

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly, shaking Draco from his thoughts. He realized that he had been glaring at her for an uncomfortable amount of moments. A blush started to creep out on his cheeks as he realized that he had also unconsciously extended his hand towards her. He stared at his hand a moment before, cleverly, pretending that he had always meant to run his hand through his hair. A number of pamphlets had fallen on the ground between them, so silently he bent to gather them up. Hermione seemed equally at a loss for words as her fingers closed around the freshly gathered materials. His gaze shifted from her hands to her supernaturally springy hair as it glinted softly in the light. It looked like an impossibly thick fog of swirled brown, he mused.

               It was no mystery to him why these curls would so capture a painter. They were replicated a hundred times in a hundred boasts of artistic expertise. Her curls demanded attention. Demanded touching? He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts. Nervously, he wiped his hands against his trouser legs. It was possibly the longest either of them had been silent in each other’s presence. She followed his movements, face inscrutable. ‘Oh no’, He panicked, ‘She’s going to get the wrong impression. What if she’s thinking that I’m wiping my hands because they almost touched her and she still thinks that I haven’t changed since the war? The tabloids certainly think I haven’t. I haven’t even properly talked to her and I already blew it. I blew it, I blew it, I--’

“Sorry!” He blurted out loudly over his own thoughts and inhaled slowly through his nose and elaborated, “I didn’t mean to block your way and sorry, I wasn’t wiping hand because of you – it’s just a nervous habit I’ve developed and I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me.”

He trailed off, her eyes had widened slightly as he fumbled around his words but her expression was just as inscrutable as ever.

               Ever since the war, he was terrified of giving the wrong impression and then people would further all those poisonous words the tabloids printed. It didn’t help that all Draco seemed able to do these days was give the wrong impression. He bit the inside of his cheek, it was a vicious cycle he couldn’t break free of. As he started to conclude that this situation was unsalvageable, Hermione did something shocking – she slowly nodded.

“It’s alright,” she soothed, “I just didn’t expect to see you here is all.”

Dumfounded he nodded back, “Yeah, don’t go around telling anyone.” He smiled slightly, “It’ll ruin my reputation.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in response, “We wouldn’t want that now, would we?”

“Absolutely not.” He exaggeratedly stuck his nose up in the air and was rewarded his an amused huff.

“Well. Enjoy the rest of your day Malfoy.” Hermione made a show of wiping her hands on her trousers before extending one towards him. Outright grinning, he copied her motions and clasped her hand. As they shook, he glimpsed an image on her shirt. He nearly rolled his eyes. Of course.

“Granger?”

“Yes?”

“Who is that on your shirt?”

Hermione glanced down, “Oh just a pop star. His name is David Bowie.”

The feeling from this morning came back and birthed butterflies. She had already turned to leave.

“Thank you!” He called after her.

“No problem!” She replied over her shoulder and continued away.

Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head. Sure, it wasn’t a perfect likeness, but he would take what he could get. What were the odds that he would finally see himself through her?   
  
Whistling cheerfully, he left the museum.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always disliked that most stories made Draco some kind of cold, marble man after the war. Despite being a jerk, he was always fairly emotive so I always felt that, after the war, he would have been a more nervous man than when it started. So this is one of my takes on how he would act. And yeah, Bowie. I feel like a lot of Bowie's music would resonate with Draco and don't think it would be too out there for him to physically resemble him.


End file.
